


Swallow Your Tongue

by liketolaugh



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: (mostly implied) - Freeform, Autistic Kanda, Autistic Link, DGM Big Bang 2018, Gen, Head Nurse is Sick of the Order's Shit, Memory Loss, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Self-Harm, someone protect these children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 19:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15914550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: Lenalee can't cry, Kanda can't think, and Link knows, just knows he can do better. (The truth of the matter was, human minds just weren't meant to handle this kind of stress.)Heavy trigger warning for self-harm.





	Swallow Your Tongue

“It’s good to see you again, Head Nurse.”

Lenalee’s voice came out quiet, pulled down even as it left her mouth. Her gaze stayed fixed between her knees, and she bit her cheek, trying to distract herself from the sharp (but familiar) pain in her leg. Her eyes didn’t water, but she felt like they should.

Head Nurse sighed, but her hand on Lenalee’s arm was warm and steady and Lenalee leaned slightly into the touch without shifting her gaze.

“I could say much the same,” Head Nurse said, a tone of resignation to her words, “except I wouldn’t be seeing you if you weren’t hurt.”

Lenalee made a soft sound in her throat, pressing her hands into the mattress.

“I like seeing you,” she whispered, still not looking up.

She was seven now, had been with the Order for a year, and she felt lonelier than ever. With her master’s death, everything around her felt muffled, as if in a heat haze. Now there was no one who would speak plainly to her, only person upon person looking at her with sad eyes and gentle words. It felt like a stranglehold.

“And that’s okay,” Head Nurse assured her, “but you need to be careful. You don’t want to get _too_ hurt, you understand?”

She didn’t want to turn to dust.

“I won’t,” Lenalee said tonelessly. “I’m fast.” It was the only thing she had going for her.

“You’re fast,” Head Nurse agreed, not moving her hand. Instead, she squeezed.

Lenalee opened her mouth. She wanted to tell Head Nurse that it was getting harder to move fast – that with every mission she felt heavier and slower. She wanted to tell her that she missed her master so, so much, and she was scared without her.

(But you don’t speak of the dead at the Order.)

She swallowed, and asked instead, “How long am I going to be here?”

“A week and a half,” Head Nurse said with quiet certainty. “Even the CROW can’t drag you out before then. You need your leg in working condition.”

Not looking at Head Nurse, Lenalee missed the darkness that crossed behind the woman’s eyes. Despite herself, Lenalee smiled again, very slightly.

“I’m glad,” she said. “I’d much rather be with you than out on a mission, Head Nurse.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Me too, Lenalee,” Head Nurse said at last, and then she left to tend to other patients.

* * *

Tiedoll had a new apprentice, Daisya.

“Do you enjoy soccer, Daisya?”

Lenalee didn’t mind that; exorcists came and went, and since he was young - only a few years older than Lenalee - Tiedoll would be the one looking after him.

“I- yeah. I like soccer, I guess.”

 _(Now,_ something in her mind whispered. _There used to be someone else who favored children.)_

“That’s nice, child. Do you spend a lot of time playing? I expect you can run quite well, can’t you?”

But there was something about the way Tiedoll talked to him that hurt. His voice was soft and gentle, and he spoke slowly, like he was thinking really hard about his words. Why did he do that?

“Mm-hm.”

“I’ve played soccer before, Daisya. Maybe we can play sometime.”

“But you’re a big kid! Wait, who are you anyway?”

“I’m Noise Marie. I’m one of General Tiedoll’s apprentices as well.”

“Oh. How long have you been here?”

The table hushes, and Lenalee glanced up, a little frown pulling down the corner of her mouth. Her heels tapped against the ground, lightly aggravating the ache that still plagued her leg, which had only barely healed from its most recent break.

Right to her left, Marie was watching the new boy with a solemn look, and something darker maybe; his shoulders were hunched, and his head dipped just a little, the corners of his eyes tightening. Across from them, Daisya was staring at Marie expectantly, face wan and eyes still rimmed pink. And beside him, Tiedoll was looking at Daisya too, and he just seemed- tired.

He should get some sleep, Lenalee thought absently, and answered since she guessed no one else would.

“Two years,” she said confidently. Daisya’s eyes widened, and he looked suddenly scared.

“How long will _I_ be here?” he asked, with a fear that Lenalee felt under her skin.

She jolted, mouth opening to protest (the CROW would hear) but Marie’s hand went to her shoulder, squeezing it in a way she knew was meant to calm her.

“We’ll see,” Marie said soothingly. Daisya’s eyes were fixed to Lenalee’s, stricken, but at Marie’s words he looked away, to Marie. Marie smiled reassuringly. “General Tiedoll and I will do our best to keep you safe.”

Daisya relaxed at that, looking a little calmer, but Lenalee wanted to cry. Why were they hiding things from Daisya? Why were they _lying?_

“It’ll be okay, right?” Daisya asked Tiedoll, head swiveling to face him, expression pleading. “I won’t end up like…” He swallowed, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Like who?” Lenalee asked, cocking her head like a bird. Marie inhaled sharply, and Tiedoll closed his eyes.

Daisya ducked his head and reached up, scrubbing at his eyes, and after a long, strange moment, he whispered, “My family.”

Lenalee blinked, mouth opening a little.

_Callused fingers in her hair, smoky drifting bajiao incense, Komui talking about something she didn’t understand-_

“I-” She blinked again, and then she ducked her head, eyes burning. Why was it so hard to remember? Why did it hurt?

“Everything is okay now,” Tiedoll said, and Lenalee’s head jerked up, startled. Tiedoll’s smile was kind, directed to both Daisya and Lenalee. “You’re safe here.”

 _I’m not,_ Lenalee thought viciously, tears burning at her eyes again. _You’re lying!_

But Marie looked almost pleading, and Tiedoll was tired and hopeful, and Daisya was lifting his head again, tears tracking down his face, looking at her.

Lenalee swallowed, and then she nodded. Her memories faded to the back of her mind, and her skin itched restlessly. She shifted, and her leg ached.

Lenalee smiled, seeking out approval from Tiedoll’s expression. “Of course we’re safe here. This is home.”

Tiedoll and Marie both relaxed, offering warm smiles, and Lenalee held their gazes, smiling desperately.

“That’s the spirit, Lenalee,” Tiedoll said encouragingly. “Do you see, Daisya? You’ll find your place here.”

“Okay,” Daisya agreed, and offered a brave smile in return.

* * *

Lenalee’s feet drummed anxiously against the ground, her fingers dug into her elbows, and she kept her eyes on the window, watching the scenery pass by as the train ran.

Though there were two other people in the compartment, it was dead silent. One of them, a finder, was simply keeping very still, their eyes firmly fixed to their hands, folded in their lap. The other was a looming, heavy presence in the compartment, as silent as the other two, but imperious and cold in his indifferent mask - the CROW who had been assigned to Lenalee since her third escape attempt.

With the CROW around, Lenalee hardly dared to breathe, let alone speak. She just sat, stiff and scared, staring out the window at fields upon fields, none of it catching her mind. She was too distracted by her thoughts.

The mission was in Rome again; there were a lot of missions in Rome, because once upon a time they’d made a point of collecting interesting artifacts, and they were always dangerous. Rome had a dense population, which meant plenty of akuma.

(Someone had died in Rome, but she couldn’t remember who. Then she scolded herself, because a lot of people had probably died in Rome, and did it really matter that one person in particular had?)

Lenalee wondered if they’d rebuilt the street with the nice café. It wouldn’t have the café anymore, of course, but it had been a nice street anyway.

She shook herself, a full-bodied shiver that was meant more to distract her than anything else, and looked around the compartment for a distraction, fingers fumbling across her lap until they grazed bare skin.

Her uniform skirt was up to her knees now; it made her feel cold and vulnerable, and she tugged the hem compulsively downward. People grumbled darkly whenever they saw it, and it still stretched worryingly when she kicked, but she didn’t dare tell them; she thought they’d make the skirt shorter if she did. If it tore, though, she’d have no choice.

Which brought her mind back to the mission.

She thought it was funny, that word of akuma never spread far, even in a place with so many. Maybe because so few people who saw them escaped.

Or maybe those who did see never spoke of it again. If she ever managed to escape the Order, she knew she’d never want to. Why would she, when even the sound of screeching metal upset her like she was out in the middle of the city, with the wind in her hair and bullets missing by inches and her foot cracking against solid steel?

(For a moment, she thought she could smell gunpowder, and every muscle tightened at once before she _forced_ herself to settle.)

...When would they be getting to Rome?

She cleared her throat. The CROW turned to look at her. The finder didn’t. She held back a squeak and stayed quiet, ducking her head as if to apologize for making any noise at all, and studied the toes of her cold, heavy Innocence boots brushing the ground underneath her, cheeks heated with shame.

The train rumbled on, and from other compartments, Lenalee could just make out faint and idle chatter. In this one, the finder coughed, and then stiffened up in obvious fear.

It was going to be a long train ride.

(Not long enough, she knew.)

* * *

Lenalee’s face and arms stung with the whipping of branches and thorns against her skin, but she couldn’t stop here; she couldn’t even afford to slow down. She gritted her teeth against the faint burn of her thighs and kept running, hearing the clipped, loud calls of the CROW closing in around her.

She turned left and changed course, ducking through a clump of bushes to try and trick them, and inside those, she activated her Innocence, the flash hidden by the cluster of leaves.

 _I’ll climb up that tree as soon as I pass,_ she thought quickly, crouched and trembling inside her bush, angry (frightened) tears stinging at her wide eyes. _And keep going left, maybe, because I went in a straight line last time-_ (she’d thought she could get away fast enough then, get clear) _-and they’ll be expecting that, right? And then-_

She didn’t have time to react to the rustle of leaves and branches before a line of tags was being wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides, and she cried out and slammed her head back, catching the CROW in the chin but not getting him to loosen his grip.

“How many times, Dark Boots?” the CROW asked with a bite of irritation. He tightened the line and Lenalee shoved down a yelp, frustration climbing up into her throat. “The sooner you accept your sworn duty, the sooner we can end this.” He stood, tugging her up with him, and she wobbled for a moment before catching her balance on the uneven ground. The CROW pushed her forward, and then again, harder, when she didn’t walk. “You’re being _childish.”_

She didn’t look at him, dragging her feet the best she could without tripping as he lead her on a walk of shame back to Headquarters.

“Your mission, since you’re clearly already aware of it, is tomorrow afternoon,” the CROW added. “And you’re fortunate I won’t be in the meantime. In the meantime, because of your little show here-” He shoved, and she tripped over a branch and caught herself on a tree, going still for the moment it took him to shove again. “You’ll be confined to your quarters. A CROW will be assigned to make sure you stay there.”

Her quarters had no windows.

She bit her tongue against the words burning in her chest, resentment twisting something deep and bitter inside her. At the same time, fear made her mind dizzy and her elbows shake, and she tripped over another branch as the pace picked up.

 _You can’t make me,_ she thought childishly, either too smart or too scared to say it aloud. _You can force me back to headquarters but you can’t make me go on another mission! You can’t!_

Once, Lenalee had harbored hopes of going home. Now she just wanted to _stop fighting,_ stop _getting hurt._

Finally, the CROW pushed her through the door to her room, and she stumbled forward a few steps before whirling around just as it slammed shut, and she heard the thunk of the great big lock that none of the other doors in the wing had. For a long time, she stared at it blankly.

Her heart twisted. Restlessness itched under her skin. She trembled.

_You can’t make me. You can’t make me. You can’t make me. You can’t make me._

The thought played in a hysterical loop in her head, her fingers digging into her sides and tears glistening wetly in her eyes, her breath coming in deep, quick gasps.

 _You can’t make me,_ **_I don’t want to go!_ **

...She wanted to be with Head Nurse. Head Nurse wouldn’t let them take her.

And before she’d fully registered the decision to do so, she’d turned around and lashed out at the nearest breakable object - a lamp meant to hold a candle, set by her bedside for dark and nightmare-riddled nights. It shattered, sending sparkling shards of glass scattering across the table and floor, and she picked up one of the biggest and hesitated for just a moment.

Her skirt was up to her mid-thigh now.

Untapped nervous energy and frustration rampaged through her small body, making her tremble, and she let her legs fold under her and fell to the ground. Then she slashed with the glass shard, and it dug into her thigh, leaving behind a deep gash that stared up at her for a split second before it started to gush blood.

She stared at it, wide-eyed, and then covered it with both her hands and cried in loud, gasping, awful sobs that tumbled between heaving gasps of breath.

(It didn’t hurt. Not like a broken bone did, anyway.)

“I got mad and kicked the lamp,” she said an hour later, when a CROW finally came to check on her. Her sobs had quieted, the bleeding had stopped, but her cheeks were still streaked with tears and she didn’t look them in the face.

* * *

She thought about it a lot later, what she’d done.

It had worked, was the thing. The pain, the blood, those were familiar and unremarkable foes, but the fear was her real enemy. And when the CROW had taken her to the infirmary, grumbling about volatile and irresponsible children, Head Nurse had kept her for four days, and the mission had passed her by.

And- it had been easy. Lenalee was strong and the glass was sharp and- it had been easy. No matter how much she’d scared herself. It was different - not like the screech of metal or the loom of a stranger.

It was easy. It was the first choice she’d made in… a while. It…

She kept thinking about it, and over time, the memory lost the taint of fear.

Eventually, when she’d been brought back to the Order, decorated only with bruises and scrapes, and overheard her next mission assignment just two days after her return, she thought about it again.

(She had a choice, and they could not _force_ her.)

Lenalee was careful about it this time - deliberate, almost. She couldn’t run, not again, not so soon, but she slipped into a supply closet and shut the door behind her. Feeling around in the darkness, her grasping fingers found the handle of a broom and, with a snap of her knee, she broke it in half, exposing sharp, splintered wood.

She took a breath, and then another, feeling faintly dizzy. Tension trembled up and down her arms.

Lenalee did not want to go on another mission. Not at all, but especially not so soon. Her body still ached, her ears still rang, and she thought she could taste dust on her tongue.

…It was easy.

(But when she returned to the infirmary, Head Nurse’s lips pressed together and her forehead creased; she looked so _worried_ that Lenalee suddenly felt awful, and she ducked her head because she couldn’t look Head Nurse in the eyes.)

(“What happened?” Daisya asked, eyes wide and bruised from lack of sleep. His hands made a false start toward the bandages and then balled into a fist that he shoved into his lap, shoulders hunched. Lenalee shrugged.)

(Erika came back almost a week later and sat on the cott next to her, grimacing and hissing as Head Nurse bandaged up her shoulder, and she didn’t look at Lenalee while her spiky mace Innocence leaned against the table beside her. Lenalee’s breath caught in her chest and filled it up until she couldn’t breathe, and she didn’t say sorry but she didn’t try to say anything else either.)

(She couldn’t. If she did, how could she play like the adults and pretend that this was fine?)

For Head Nurse, for Daisya, for her friends who could get sent on missions that were meant for her, she forced her way through her next mission with clenched fists and grit teeth. And the next, and the next, a fourth, a fifth- One mission after another with silent finders and silent CROW and akuma that moaned and groaned and screeched awfully, tearing metal and steel grinding on steel.

(For Daisya, for Marie, for Tiedoll, Lenalee kept her thoughts locked behind her teeth and they burrowed into her bones, the dust of the dead gathering in her lungs.)

Then one night she went wandering around the Order with a candle, and she saw something she shouldn’t have. And the secrets crawled under her skin and tried to eat her alive, they squirm and whisper and she scratches at them and shivers until blood catches under her nails and says she fell, that’s all, she fell and scraped her arms, wasn’t that silly? Lenalee can be clumsy too.

* * *

Head Nurse was quiet as she tied off the bandage on Lenalee’s thigh. She was quiet as she packed away the antiseptic and the needle and the thread, and quiet as she gave Lenalee a long, lingering, unreadable look. Lenalee tried not to squirm or look too guilty; it was easier when she was this tired, this hollow.

“You’re getting hurt an awful lot lately, Lenalee,” Head Nurse said at last. Her voice sounded heavy, and even more tired than Lenalee felt.

Lenalee lost her battle not to squirm. “Sorry, Head Nurse. I’ll be more careful.”

Head Nurse continued looking at her, shifting up to sit on the cott by Lenalee’s, across from the little girl. “How have you been feeling lately, Lenalee? Are your nightmares worse?”

“I’m okay,” Lenalee said. She tasted dust on her tongue, and her skin crawled. She thought of the glow of Innocence being forced into the chest of a boy her age, and then swallowed the memory and let her gaze stay on the ground.

There was an undertone to Head Nurse’s voice that Lenalee didn’t recognize. “It’s alright to be scared, child.”

Lenalee bit her cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Isn’t that the game?” she asked hesitantly, wary of being scolded for breaking the unspoken rule.

“...The game, Lenalee?”

“If you say you’re not scared,” she said, very carefully, and then amended, “if everyone says they’re not scared… then you can pretend that no one is scared, and nothing bad is happening. That’s what General Tiedoll and Marie and everyone are doing.” She ground her heels against the ground anxiously. “It’s supposed to make people feel better. Right?”

A long moment of silence passed. She chanced a half-second glance at Head Nurse, staring at her with world-weary and hard, frustrated eyes, and ducked her head again quickly. When Head Nurse spoke again, though, her voice was almost gentle.

“Yes, child, it is supposed to make people feel better. But if it doesn’t make _you_ feel better, you don’t have to play.”

“Oh,” Lenalee said softly. Another moment passed, and Lenalee said nothing more.

“Do you want to talk about anything now, Lenalee? I know Erika’s death was hard on you.” Head Nurse sounded tired again, but not unkind. Head Nurse never sounded unkind, not when she was talking to Lenalee. But-

“Who’s Erika?” Lenalee asked before she could stop herself, lifting her head to meet Head Nurse’s eyes were her own wide violet ones.

Head Nurse’s eyes went wide, too, blatant alarm visible in them, and Lenalee flinched, one hand flying up to cover her mouth, feeling as if she had done something awfully wrong. As if there was something wrong with her. (She knew there was.)

“Who is Erika?” Head Nurse echoed, voice thin and just a touch high-pitched. Lenalee shook her head quickly, jerking her gaze away as a flush rose to her cheeks.

“I miss her,” she insisted to the wall, but she didn’t know if Erika had been her age or older or- she couldn’t _remember._ She should know, she knew she should, but-

_(An arm around her shoulders, the whistle of something flying by her ear, a playful cackle-)_

She couldn’t. It was just _gone._

“Lenalee.” Lenalee flinched at Head Nurse’s unamused, no-nonsense tone. “Do you truly not remember Erika?”

Lenalee squeaked, upset and guilty.

“...You haven’t mentioned your master in a while. Do you miss her too?”

Lenalee nodded, mechanically, not looking away from the wall. Her heart raced, and she squirmed guiltily in place. There was something sharp, something dangerous in Head Nurse’s tone. But Head Nurse would never hurt her. She knew that much.

“What was her name?”

Lenalee’s eyes watered, and her throat closed up. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Head Nurse let out a long breath, harsh and rattling, and was quiet for a moment.

“Where was your last mission?” Head Nurse asked at last, voice quiet but no less firm for it.

“Venice,” Lenalee said immediately, because she still had aches and dreams from that one. “Eight days ago.”

Head Nurse’s gaze didn’t waver. “And the one before that?”

Lenalee hesitated.

“I-” Tears spilled over onto her cheeks, and she clapped both hands over her mouth and shook her head, paused, and then shook it again, harder.

The bed dipped as Head Nurse sat down beside her, and, in a rare show of open comfort, hugged Lenalee against her side, making soft, soothing sounds as Lenalee cuddled into her, shaking.

“It’s not your fault, Lenalee,” Head Nurse said, with something dark in her voice, even as gentle as she kept it. “You’re just… too damn young for this.”

Lenalee thought she heard Head Nurse’s voice crack on that last sentence. But it must have been her imagination. Just her imagination.

Lenalee pressed her cheek against Head Nurse’s side and enjoyed the warmth.

* * *

Lenalee Lee and Head Nurse by tea-brain on Tumblr

* * *

Eventually, of course, the CROW took this escape away as well, as they did all the comforts Lenalee found.

The CROW, the coldest, quietest one that accompanied Lenalee on her missions, tied off the bandage tight enough to make Lenalee wince and then grabbed Lenalee’s wrist in a bruising grip.

“Your excuses won’t work anymore, Dark Boots,” he said. His voice was low, and could be called soft if there were any compromise in it. Lenalee’s heart skipped a beat. “You have ducked enough of your responsibilities. It is time to give up.”

“You have to take me to the infirmary,” Lenalee argued, trying to sound defiant even though she couldn’t even bring herself to pull at his hand. “It’s the rule.” It had always been the rule that they couldn’t be taken on missions if she was injured - she had _counted_ on it.

“The rules can be modified,” he replied, short and dismissive, pulling her along as she failed to move. She tripped over the air (over her heavy boots) and struggled to keep up. “We cannot afford to continue to coddle you for the damage you do to yourself. That nurse never should have entertained it in the first place.”

Lenalee’s breath hitched, and she dropped her gaze to the ground, pace steadying as she caught his stride. “Head Nurse won’t let you,” she insisted to the CROW’s back. He did not reply, and her voice rose a little. “It’s not allowed! I’m hurt and you needed to do first aid and _you can’t take me!”_

Her voice echoed in the hallway and the CROW didn’t even twitch, as if he hadn’t heard her. Her breath caught around a whine again and she held it back, tears starting to spill on her cheeks again.

That was it, then. There was _nothing_ she could do to stop him.

Spite lit a fire in her chest, and she ducked her head, scrubbing at her face with her free hand.

It didn’t matter. _It didn’t matter._ Even if she still had to do the missions, they _couldn’t stop her._ She could be as ‘clumsy’ as she _wanted_ to be and they’d be as helpless to stop it as she was to stop _them._

(Her shoes hurt her feet and she could no longer remember a time when they didn’t.)

* * *

Around Yuu, the world seemed to fall still all at once. Perhaps it had done so a while ago, and it had just taken him this much time to realize it.

When he lowered his sword, spiky and scratchy with raw Innocence, he realized that Alma had stopped moving. That Marie was not moving either. He realized that now that he himself was not moving, neither was anything else. The world had simply stopped.

Yuu breathed.

Beneath him, Alma was almost unrecognizable. He had stopped regenerating, maybe a long time ago. Yuu clung to his sword, fist tight around it and shaking subtly.

He couldn’t look at Alma anymore. He lifted his head.

Everywhere he looked, there were dead bodies. Stretched out on the ground, half-immersed in the pools, slumped against the walls - they covered the room, and along with them, splashes and smears and puddles of blood and- insides. He knew what those looked like now.

There was more blood soaking into his knees.

It made no difference. Yuu was covered in blood. It soaked his front and- there was some smeared on his face, his neck, his hair, his-

He was covered in blood; there was so much of it everywhere that he could taste it.

There were no sounds in the laboratory. Nothing but the sound of his own rapid breathing.

He was covered in blood. There were dead bodies everywhere and no sound and no movement and he was covered in blood and Alma was a wrecked mess beneath him and he was- he was- he could feel-

He could feel-

Yuu could feel his own tears on his cheeks, and the ache of his throat through his gasping breaths, and-

He let go of Mugen, which clattered to the ground, and reached up, scratching at his arms. He had to get the blood off. He had to, he had to-

He couldn’t get it off, it wasn’t coming off, he was scratching so hard it hurt and he could feel fresh blood welling up where he was scratching but he _couldn’t get the blood off get the blood off it felt so awful it was warm and it was wet and slick and it_ **_felt bad._ **

_GET IT OFF._

Yuu reached up to twist his fingers in his hair, pulled hard, and screamed. Felt an impact on his head, barely registered that it was the heel of his own hand, and another and another, and then he was getting up and running and-

_GET AWAY. GET AWAY!_

Eventually he calmed down, in a different room away from all the bodies and the lab equipment. He was squished in a corner, cheek pressed against stone, and panting into the crook of his elbow as he curled in a ball. Phantom aches ran up and down his arms and deep in his chest, but they were already leaving as well.

He was still covered in blood and the thought made him shudder harshly, but he was too exhausted to do anything more.

...He missed Alma already.

After another moment or two, Yuu rose to his feet and, slowly, started to walk away, head bowed. He hesitated, and then turned back into the lab.

He had to get his sword back, at least.

* * *

Tiedoll was telling Kanda a story again.

Tiedoll told Kanda at least one story every time they stopped, folktales and legends and fairy stories, while they sat by a fire or in an inn room. Sometimes Kanda listened, and sometimes he didn’t.

Tonight, Kanda did not listen. He felt like he was wrapped in steel wool, and every time anything made a sound, it sparked and scratched against his nerves, sending a flicker of fire and frustration to the base of his skull. He wanted to demand that Tiedoll stop talking, but his throat was shut tight.

Words were hard to come by these days. Instead, he glared at the fire, shoulders tense.

His brain was wrapped in steel wool, too; his thoughts were slow and painful, and he couldn’t focus. Slowly, his glare fell away, and while his eyes were still on the fire, his gaze turned almost dull.

He couldn’t remember what he wanted anymore. He couldn’t remember why he was here. He just, he _hurt._ He hurt so much that it turned dull and constant and _unreachable,_ and he didn’t want to have to think about it. (There was the illusion of blood on his hands, strands of bloody hair like Alma’s wrapped tight around his fingers, his arms, and sometimes he thought that even the lotus had blood on it.)

The fire was bright and flickering, catching his attention in a way that was easy to sustain. Impulsively, Kanda reached toward it, and it burned his hand, licking at it painfully - a sharp and unmistakable sensation that made his eyes focus suddenly.

He didn’t pull away. Whatever damage the fire did, his curse would heal it instantly.

Tiedoll stopped talking, though, and in moments, Tiedoll’s hand had wrapped around his wrist and pulled his hand away from the fire. At the unexpected touch, Kanda yelped, stiffening unhappily.

“Yuu, if the fire burns, you should pull away,” Tiedoll chided gently, sounding frazzled. His grip on Kanda’s wrist didn’t ease until Kanda jerked it away, scowling. “You aren’t meant to hurt like that, child. If you do, it means something is wrong.”

Kanda shifted his gaze to Tiedoll and glowered at him. He wasn’t _stupid,_ he knew what the fire was doing. He just- didn’t care.

It was suddenly easier to think, he realized. To focus. The steel wool trapping his mind had loosened, just a little, and thinking didn’t seem to hurt so much, to scrape so heavily against his heart.

He was angry at himself, he identified with new clarity. And- he wanted to find the lady. The one he’d seen that no one else had.

...But why did he want that?

He started to reach for the fire again, but Tiedoll stopped him before he could get far, urging him away from the flames with little tugs.

“Yuu, _please,”_ Tiedoll said, with an unidentifiable desperation, but Kanda paid him no mind.

Why couldn’t he _remember?_

* * *

Kanda Yuu by tea-brain on Tumblr!

* * *

Lenalee wasn’t- awful, to be around.

Kanda didn’t like Lenalee, really - the memory of their first meeting still irritated him when he thought about it. But she was quieter than most of the others, and she didn’t smile at him (like there was anything to smile about here) and she didn’t push him to talk or play with her like Daisya did.

Still, he didn’t hate her or even dislike her, either, so Lenalee was sent on missions with him relatively often. And _Lenalee_ wasn’t awful to be around, but her CROW minder-

Why did Lenalee have a CROW minder?

He scowled and growled at the ominous figure the entire train ride, tightly wound up by the sight of that familiar mask. Lenalee, close beside him, held very still instead, as if trying not to attract the CROW’s attention.

It almost made Kanda miss travelling with Tiedoll, except no, fuck that guy and his stories and his _concerned_ looks. He looked away from the CROW and scowled at the ground, at the lotus resting between his feet, fingers latching onto his elbows and holding his arms tightly against himself.

He thought about that again, about the silence and the CROW, hours later, when they arrived _late_ to try and get the Innocence, with the finders already dust on the streets and the akuma on a roll, crashing through buildings to leave rubble behind. (He didn’t know where they were - he didn’t pay a lot of attention to that sort of thing - but he already thought it was a damn hellhole, with as many akuma as it had waiting for them. Like the Innocence had been just bait for a trap.)

The Innocence had been set into a fountain, he thought - a wishing well sort of thing, whatever that was supposed to mean. Now, of course, the fountain was cracked, spilling water onto the street, while Lenalee soared above and twisted to kick an akuma straight into it and Kanda ducked around it to cut deep into another.

Kanda didn’t pay Lenalee much mind as they fought, with Mugen tearing open the akuma and spilling their oil across the street, slick and pastel-reflective. There were five akuma there, looming and enormous, and he was too used to this by now to be scared.

(The akuma couldn’t hurt him, not in any way that mattered. Nothing could.)

He didn’t pay the fountain any mind. He didn’t care what the Order wanted from him - he wasn’t grabbing that damned Innocence until the akuma were _gone._

He and Lenalee killed the last akuma together, when Kanda was beginning to register (all over him) and his movements were starting to falter at the feeling.

The akuma crashed into the ground and collapsed into dust, and Kanda’s grip tightened around his sword. His breath hitched, and his free hand reached up to his arm, coming into contact with a thick coating of akuma oil.

Kanda _hated_ akuma oil. (It felt like blood.)

A furious, desperate noise escaped his throat, and he scrubbed at it, trying to get it off - but of course, akuma oil didn’t come off that easily. He curled his fingers, letting his head dip as his breath sped up.

“Kanda?”

He ignored her, focused on the oil coating his skin. It was all over him, he could smell it, taste it, and he _hated_ it, hated it-

A hand caught his sleeve, and he hissed as he was tugged forward - one step, two, three, and when he stumbled Lenalee caught him. A moment later, his knees hit something and he was pulled down until his hand hit cool liquid.

The water fountain.

He seized the opportunity, letting his sword clatter to the ground and scooping the liquid up in handfuls and scrubbing it furiously into his shirt - the shoulders and arms were most coated, but there was some on his chest too, and when he registered the splash on his face his whole body shuddered.

It didn’t work very well, but it was something, and it let him focus on something (anything) other than the thick and heavy liquid soaking into his clothes.

Minutes passed in silence, and slowly, the screaming static in Kanda’s mind faded away. The oil still in his clothes made him squirm, sick and awful, but it wasn’t as bad. Not too bad to stand.

The finders that had come with them - the only ones still alive, with the ones who had been assigned to the area just empty coats on the ground - circled cautiously, afraid to get too close. The CROW stood back, as disaffected as they ever were.

Finally, Kanda looked at Lenalee. The exertion had torn open whatever wound was under her bandages - that was stupid, Kanda thought vaguely, human bodies were stupid. She looked distracted, eyes tracking across the half-wrecked scenery, but she seemed to sense his gaze on her and looked over, and after a moment, tilted her head and gave him a hesitant smile.

He huffed back, and then turned away and slid off the edge of the fountain and onto the ground again.

“What are we still doing here?” he demanded of the ground, leaning down to pick Mugen off the ground and sheathe it.

As if that had been a cue, the finders hurried forward, moving as if to usher them back to the train station as soon as possible, murmuring reassurances and saying nothing at all about all the sets of empty clothes on the ground, not even the beige finders’ coats.

(There was something tight about their voices, but Kanda didn’t bother to think too hard about it.)

* * *

There was a rhythm, generally, to when new exorcists joined the Order. It varied depending on whether the new exorcist was an adult or a kid, closer to Lenalee’s age. Adults were given a respectful distance, most of the time, and approached the others as they desired; children, on the other hand, were pulled in and treated gently, carefully, like glass.

Kanda, Lenalee had noticed, was treated a little more like an adult exorcist than a child, at least when it came to this, and she couldn’t help but wonder what the difference was. (But then again she hadn’t really understood it in the first place. They were all the same to her.)

When she could, Lenalee stuck to Kanda; unlike most of the others at the Order, she liked his company - his prickly quiet was less stifling than the others tended to be, and she could _breathe._

Of course, he was still prickly.

Across the table from each other, the two children picked at their food in silence, eating in little, halfhearted bites. Lenalee’s thighs were bandaged again, her feet tapping on the ground underneath her, while Kanda leaned forward against the table, his cheek resting on one hand and gaze unfocused. Every few seconds, he dropped his fork to rub his hand along his arm, grimacing. At the same time, Lenalee was spending more time stirring her soba than eating it.

The rest of their table was empty. The other exorcists were eating elsewhere, and none of the finders dared come near.

Finally, Kanda shoved his food away, scowling, and Lenalee glanced up, dropping her chopsticks in concern. “Kanda? Aren’t you going to finish? You must be hungry.” They’d only returned from their mission a few hours before.

“I don’t need your _worry,”_ he snapped back, head jerking to snarl at her, eyes narrowed and flashing.

Lenalee’s worried look shifted into a faint scowl of her own, and she retorted, “Maybe I just don’t want to have to pick you up when you collapse because you _didn’t bother eating.”_

“Like you even could, you little stick,” he sniped. “And with food like this, it’s a wonder _anybody_ eats here!”

“Don’t you be mean about Jerry or his food!” Lenalee huffed, jabbing at him with one chopstick. He sneered.

“What, is he your _friend?”_

“Yes, he is, and so are you, so _eat!”_

Kanda scowled at her and she scowled back, both of them standing their ground for a few long, tense seconds. Then, at the same time, both of them looked away, breaking their locked gazes.

“It tastes bad,” Kanda said at last, petulant rather than angry. “It’s _heavy.”_

Lenalee relaxed a little, nearly rolling her eyes at the other exorcist before nudging her food over. “Try mine, it’s kind of bland for me.”

“Che.” He pulled it over reluctantly and pushed his towards her, and within a few moments, they were both eating.

* * *

Kanda heard about Lenalee’s attempts to flee before he ever saw one.

It was a tale of warning, of sorts - Lenalee had failed time after time to escape the Order’s heavy-handed grasp, and many of the older exorcists (bar only Marie) seemed to believe that he would be more of the same.

That was stupid, of course. He’d made his attempt, and it had, in a way, cost him _everything._ He wasn’t in a hurry to try again. (And besides, he had- something to do.)

Still, he’d heard enough that when he found Lenalee fumbling with the door handle of a closet, panting and wide-eyed with fear, he knew what it meant.

(These days, Tiedoll had told Kanda, quiet and pensive, if Lenalee had time to calm down before she was found, she wouldn’t try to flee. She’d come a long ways to accepting her fate.)

(It had only taken Kanda one try to reach that state of resignation and he didn’t know what that meant.)

“Come on,” he said, following that train of thought. He grabbed her by her sleeve and tugged her down the hall, swift and purposeful. She squeaked in terror and jerked away, and he huffed, not looking back at her. “Stop squirming, we’re hiding.” Pause, and then he amended, “You’re hiding.”

“I-” Lenalee cut herself off, shivery and high-pitched even with just that one word, but kept up with him easily, drawing even with his stride. “What do you mean?”

He scowled at her fiercely and then quickly looked away again, and Lenalee fell silent, but he could still feel her shivering just through his grip on her sleeve.

Kanda really should stop letting people follow him around like this. They _grew_ on him, like mold. Ugh.

They reached Kanda’s room and he shut the door behind them and shoved her toward the bed.

“Hide,” he ordered her, avoiding her gaze. “

“I- Kanda, you can’t, you’ll get in trouble-” There was something funny about her breathing, and the way she stuttered… It wasn’t like her.

He frowned, turning toward her, and then started slightly at her expression. She was hyperventilating, almost, eyes wide and expression twisted so she was obviously nearly in tears.

“Calm down,” he said uncomfortably, shifting away. He couldn’t say it was fine, ‘cause obviously it wasn’t - that was why was panicking, but... “None of this is anything we haven’t dealt with before. You can fucking deal and so can I, and don’t you fucking dare say otherwise. I’ll hit you.”

Her breath faltered and she looked away, reaching up to fiddle with the hair around her face, tugging at it lightly. Her feet pattered against the ground, and she _wasn’t fucking moving._ He growled at her, and she took a deliberate step back and banged her bandaged leg against the corner of his bed, and then winced and dropped onto it, ducking her head. Her breathing slowed and settled, but her shoulders tightened.

It made him think of the flicker and burn of fire.

“Sorry, Kanda,” she said at last, smiling a little even as she rubbed tears out of her eyes with the palm of her hand.

Kanda cleared his throat and looked away, grabbing Mugen and a tin of polish.

“Hide before the CROW come looking, you idiot,” he muttered, faintly unsettled and unsure why.

* * *

“Why is Lenalee so weird?”

Kanda’s question was abrupt and, by the way Marie started visibly, apparently unexpected. Marie’s head turned toward him, and a frown pulled at the man’s mouth as Kanda glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

And then Marie smiled faintly, relaxing. “That’s not very nice,” he chided. He didn’t sound overly hung up about it, though, so Kanda rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, you know it’s true. What’s up with her?” Marie hummed evasively and Kanda scowled at him. “Don’t stall.”

“Well, I’m not sure what you’re asking,” Marie said, infuriatingly logical.

Kanda scowled for a moment longer, and then grimaced and rocked back slightly, considering. “What do you think of her?” he asked at last, grudgingly.

Marie seemed to mull that over for a while, fiddling with the rings of Noel Organon.

“She’s grown up quite a lot since she’s come here,” Marie started, slow and thoughtful. “She was here before I was, you know, though not by too much. Wasn’t quite fluent in English yet.” Kanda made an impatient sound at him, and Marie chuckled a little. “I still don’t know what you’re after.”

Kanda hesitated, because he wasn’t exactly sure how to say it. ‘She doesn’t like it here’ was dumb; none of them liked it here. ‘She looks like she wants to crawl out of her skin’ wouldn’t make sense to anyone but him probably. ‘She understands more than Tiedoll does’ wouldn’t either.

Both of them were silent for a few long, tense moments.

“Some of her coping methods are worrying,” Marie said at last, cautiously. “Head Nurse is right when she says Lenalee is too young for this, and the Order…” He silenced himself, lips pressing together tightly, and for some reason, Kanda bristled.

“Never mind,” he snapped, shooting to his feet and storming away, leaving a startled Marie behind him.

No one ever talked about anything here. It was dumb to ask. It was dumb to think about it. It didn’t matter anyway. Nothing did here - not motives, not pasts, not the truth of their lives or their nonexistent futures, not _anything._

Nothing mattered except what the Order wanted, and what the exorcists did to try and fight them. To get away.

His skin crawled with the remnants of the conversation, stress shuddering up his spine, and one of his hands reached up under his sleeve and scratched harshly, trying to _stop_ thinking about it.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter because they would all die in the end no matter what, and not even whether or not they’d achieved their goals in the meantime made any real difference.

* * *

Lenalee couldn’t stop crying.

She was dizzy and hysterical with it, dragging in great gasps of air between sobs, fingers buried in her hair and face scrunched up and pressed into her knees as she wailed, too gone to even try and be quiet about it.

And it wasn’t helping at all. Not just in the practical sense, which she knew was the case anyway, but Lenalee didn’t even _feel_ better, she just- couldn’t stop. Twice CROW had banged on her locked door, but it just made her worse, stomach clenching and lungs aching with her fear and misery.

It wasn’t even anything in particular - just too much too often. She could still feel the imprints of bruising grips on her wrists, dragging her down from where she’d hidden close to the roof, and the echoes of their damning words, ‘duty’ and ‘childishness’ and ‘selfish,’ ‘vital,’ ‘necessary.’

She felt, now, like her emotions would carry her away like a great tide, never to be seen again - her busy lungs couldn’t bring in enough air and Lenalee’s fingertips were tingling and numb. She could feel her heartbeat like a jackrabbit in her chest, and one of her hands untangled from her hair to press over it, as if to force it to slow. Nothing happened.

The CROW banged twice on the door again and said something, but she couldn’t make it out. Lenalee keened, curling up tighter, trying to hide in herself and squish into a corner.

She was going to be punished for this, she was sure, this _outburst_ and another escape attempt and all of it, all of this. She felt as if her cries echoed down the corridor, so the whole Order heard them, and it made her shudder.

Lenalee didn’t want this. She didn’t want any of it, she was trapped in a swirling, unbreachable hell of _mistakes_ and _rules_ and _can’t, can’t, can’t-_

A thought made her sobs slow enough for her to scramble up, and she didn’t like doing this but it made sense, somewhere in the back of her brain, to-

She had a glass, that she’d taken from the dining hall, stashed under her bed. Breaking it was easy, and her crying slowed as a cotton calm started to blanket over her, and she plopped on the ground and stretched her leg out and-

Oh.

Oh, god. Oh no.

She hadn’t meant to… do that…

That was _so much deeper than she’d meant,_ that was _too deep!_ That was too much blood and that _shouldn’t have been that easy-_

Cold terror shot up Lenalee’s spine and wrapped around her chest, freezing her former hysteria in its place and putting a new fear there instead, and she pressed both her hands over the new wound and _screamed._

* * *

Lenalee woke up.

Not for the first or the second or the third time, but the first that someone other than Head Nurse or a CROW had been beside her. Her heart still rabbited in her chest - she couldn’t _stand_ the restraints, she wanted to _move_ to _run_ to _fly -_ but she focused on Kanda anyway, eyes wide and maybe a little distant.

There was something crumpled about the way Kanda looked at her, and he shifted in place, leaning back, when he noticed that she was awake. He didn’t reach out to touch her, but he didn’t leave.

After a long moment, he spoke.

“You don’t heal,” he said, rough and scraped and as if he had only now realized this.

Lenalee did heal; of course she did, and she had many times before. Kanda had watched her, waited for her to finish so they could spar, even bandaged her once or twice. But she knew what he meant.

She didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure how.

Neither of them spoke again for a long time, unsure of how to breach this new and awful situation. There was something like betrayal in Kanda’s expression, and at the same time, he looked almost lost, while Lenalee’s brain hummed too loud to be helpful and she was just glad that someone, anyone, was there. When Kanda finally got up to leave, hours later, it was in silence, but maybe, at least, a different kind than had been there when Lenalee woke.

Eventually, she got another visitor - a figure out of a dream.

Komui sat by her beside, laid his hand on her forehead, and smiled like it hurt but he didn’t mind at all.

“It’s me, Lenalee,” he said.

And “I’m here.”

And “I’m not going to leave.”

(Not ‘it’s alright’ or ‘you’re going to be okay’ or ‘everything is fine’, just ‘I’m here,’ ‘I’m here,’ ‘I won’t leave you alone.’)

Memories, bits and pieces she’d forgotten, trickled back a few at a time.

_Komui reading to her from a book- she didn’t understand any of it but she liked her brother’s voice._

_Komui arguing with an older man about his career path- he wanted to be an engineer._

_Komui holding her hand as she went to bed._

_Komui, Komui, Komui._

Lenalee cried, but she didn’t cry alone. Komui cried with her, even as he kept smiling and holding her hand, patting it and then patting it again as if compelled, as if he wasn’t sure if he’d done it yet and wanted to make sure.

(She’d forgotten that she wanted to go home. She’d just wanted to _leave.)_

(Eventually, then, home had come to her instead.)

Lenalee had a home now, and it was with her brother in his office. So whenever she wanted to leave - whenever she was too big for her skin or too angry at the world - she went to him.

(A year or two later, she would only bandage her legs after missions.)

* * *

 _I have to be better than this,_ Link thought to himself, with an edge of desperation he would never let himself voice.

He’d been training for hours; there was a lamp burning not far from his feet, a flickering dim light that was only just enough to see by and not quite enough to keep him from squinting. Night had fallen hours before, but Link couldn’t go to bed yet. Not yet.

He didn’t have the newest form down yet. Everyone else did, all of his friends, but Link just _couldn’t get it._ He always messed up and fell halfway through, and they were being tested tomorrow, and he- he had to be _better_ than that.

Link was smart, and athletic, and hardworking-loyal-trustworthy-reliable and he _couldn’t_ let Leverrier down, he just couldn’t. His insides roiled against the thought of failure, of not being _good enough._

His muscles ached. Every stretch and movement hurt, and he was so tired- he felt like he could just fall over and go to sleep there on the matt.

Except if he was going to do that, he may as well give up and go to bed, and he wasn’t about to do that either. He took a deep breath and forced himself to center, to concentrate. He needed to do this.

The maneuver was a basic one, one all CROW needed to know - for when you needed to turn on a dime, low to the ground, best for dodging. Get a running start low to the ground, then dig your fingers against the ground and _turn-_ your weight would only be on your wrist and fingers for a moment, momentum would take care of the rest.

(It was a _basic maneuver._ What did it say about Link that he couldn’t do it?)

Another breath, and he _moved-_ darted forward, just past the flickering lamp, slammed his hand into the ground, and- tumbled over, gasping as his aching body hit the floor.

His throat tightened and his eyes stung, but he wouldn’t cry. It wouldn’t help, and he was twelve years old, too old for tears. He blinked them away and pushed himself to his feet.

He’d try again, and again, and again, and he wouldn’t go to bed until he could manage it, perfect and consistent and _useful._

(Hours later, with the dawn light starting to peek through the window, he’s finally satisfied with himself, with his progress - he hurts all over and his joints whine in a way a preteen’s shouldn’t, and he may have sprained his right wrist so he had to demonstrate with the other, but Leverrier nodded at him and almost smiled and it was worth it, all worth it.)

(He’d done it, and he’d done it perfectly, just like he should.)

* * *

Link didn’t speak as much to his friends anymore.

He still spent most- no, a lot of his time with them. As much as he could. But there was something distant about their relationship now, as Link pulled further and further ahead in his training, as he worked to perform everything as flawlessly as possible and it became clear that Leverrier had a favorite.

(Link would never claim as much, of course, but he wasn’t stupid, and he was the only one Leverrier pulled aside for private lessons.)

Link missed his friends, but he wasn’t sure how to fix whatever had broken, and he couldn’t afford to slow down - he couldn’t stand the thought of doing anything less than perfectly.

So instead, he just let his head dip forward, lolling a little toward his bowl of soup as he ate, slow and mechanical.

It didn’t matter that he was always sore from training so hard - it was just that he didn’t have enough natural talent to be good enough for Leverrier, so he had to make up for it with hard work. It didn’t matter that his knee hurt sharply, as if he’d pulled something in it, or that he was almost asleep in his dinner but wasn’t planning to go to sleep for hours yet - Leverrier had promised to teach Link a new recipe if he learned this spell set quickly, and Leverrier was _very_ exacting in what he meant by ‘quickly.’

The thought cheered him, and he sat up in place, forcing himself awake, oblivious to the way Madarao blocked Tewaku from his view or the way Kiredori studiously avoided looking at him at all.

He couldn’t, on the other hand, be oblivious to Tokusa’s attention if he tried, because after a few moments of frowning at him, Tokusa reached forward abruptly and tapped his forearm, making him jump.

“You better not be planning to stay up again tonight,” Tokusa sniped halfheartedly, meeting his confused gaze squarely. “You’re gonna collapse if you keep staying up like this.”

Link blinked at him for a moment, and then shook his head quickly, turning back to his food. “I can’t,” he said dismissively, reaching up to rub at his cheek with the palm of his hand. “I promised I would learn the spells by tomorrow.”

“We don’t need to know them until the end of next week,” Tokusa pointed out mildly, ignoring the attention of the others as they turned toward the two of them one by one.

“I promised,” Link repeated, turning his head to frown at him. “I need to take this seriously.”

“And the rest of us aren’t?” Tokusa demanded, shifting away a little as his eyes sharpened defensively.

“It’s different,” Link protested, hackles starting to rise.

“How?” Tokusa snapped. “Because you’re the Inspector’s _favorite?”_

“I-” Link started and then stopped, faltering because he wasn’t sure how to reply, because, well- yes? No? Not exactly? His muscles itched with untapped energy, and finally, lost, he snapped back, “It just _is.”_

Tokusa made a sound of disgust. “Don’t act like you’re the only one trying,” he told Link harshly, pulling his bowl away to move further down the table. “The moment you slip up you’ll be replaced, you know.”

“Then I won’t slip up,” Link snapped, and picked up his bowl to take it away, dinner half-eaten. He wanted to train, long and hard- it would make him feel better, he knew.

* * *

Link was not an exorcist.

This had never felt like a significant failure before - the whims of Innocence were mysterious and unknowable, far out of his or anyone else’s control - but it did today, with the Order only a few days settled after the invasion and Allen Walker still unconscious after three days under, swathed in bandages.

And maybe, technically, his job was to guard the Order _from_ Allen - but as far as he was concerned he was meant to guard Allen too, because traitor or not, the Order _needed_ him for as long as they could have him. Exorcists were irreplaceable. Unlike-

Unlike Link, because it’s not like they didn’t already have a surplus of people who couldn’t do a damn thing.

One of his hands clenched tight around his wrist, twisting hard enough to leave aching, deep bruises - it was a bad habit, a stress tic. He didn’t bother to stop it. He deserved it, just like he deserved every one of the injuries that twinged every time he moved, rocking just slightly in place, back and forth, as he watched his comatose charge.

(The drag of exhaustion was so familiar he hardly noticed; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night.)

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, keeping an informal but studious watch over Allen Walker, before the door opened behind him and he twisted around sharply, half-rising to his feet before he recognized the Order’s Head Nurse.

She looked- tired.

Well, of course. The casualties during the invasion had been enormous; she must have been busy.

“You ought to sleep, Head Nurse,” he said, before he could think better of it, cautious eyes on the older woman. (She didn’t like him, he knew.) “You cannot do your best in that state. The Order needs you.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Head Nurse said dryly, eyes flinty and uncompromising. “That seems to be the way of things around here.”

That had been Link’s experience as well, but he kept a lingering, wary eye on her, hand still around the opposite wrist. After a long moment, she sighed, frustrated.

“As for you, Mister Link - don’t think you’ve evaded medical attention. I may not have had time until now, but you most certainly are not getting away scot-free.”

Link blinked and shifted away reflexively, startled.

“That won’t be necessary,” he told her.

Her eyes darkened noticeably, unexpected enough to make him startle. “It’s my job to determine what is _necessary,_ Mister Link!”

“You’re meant to look after the exorcists,” Link protested, much quieter but just as firm. “I am not an exorcist, Head Nurse.”

“Tch,” the woman hissed, audibly irate. She knelt in front of him and started to unbutton his shirt with crisp, precise motions, and he flushed with embarrassment and hastily completed it himself before he could think better of it. “I think I’m old enough to decide who to tend to myself, boy.” Under her breath, she muttered, _“What_ the Order is teaching these children…”

Bemused, Link found himself with no choice but to let her check him over. The wound in his side had already been stitched, as had another in his arm, but several others had yet to be disinfected or covered, so she did that in near-silence, and then, finally, pressed a cold pack from the Science Division into his hand.

“For that wrist of yours,” she said crisply. “You know your strength better than I do, but I’m certain that’s going to be quite an awful bruise.”

Link flinched guiltily, but she was already turning away.

“And go to sleep, Mister Link. I’m sure you’d like to be in full possession of all your senses when Mister Walker wakes up.”

* * *

The first mission after Allen recovered enough to _go_ on missions was a failure. This was not a promising return to duty, and if Allen left him alone for long enough, Link would be silently steaming over it.

As it was, he didn’t have the time - though Kanda was almost eerily still and silent on the other side of their campfire, Allen kept him easily engaged in conversation, and Link could hardly ever bring himself to turn Allen away these days.

“Do you ever make holiday desserts?” Allen asked, and anyone else might not have noticed the strain in his smile or the way he fidgeted with the hem of his gloves, but Link had done nothing but observe Allen for the past few months. He noticed.

(He had his concerns about the way Allen threw himself into battle, how easily he accepted injuries, the way he gripped himself when he was shivering and crying and trying to be quiet- but they were. Secondary.)

Nonetheless, Link was grateful for the distraction.

“I’ve done so once or twice,” he answered, gazing steadily into the dying fire. (They would return to the Order the next day - the mission had been meant to last longer.) “I don’t normally have the chance, however.”

Something in Allen’s eyes glittered almost playfully, though his smile remained strained, and he opened his mouth to ask another question - perhaps if Link could make something soon, Link recognized the look - but he was interrupted.

“Will you two shut up about sweets for five seconds?” Kanda snapped. He’d been stonily silent since the two exorcists had cleaned out the akuma and found the Innocence destroyed, but apparently he’d finally had enough, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed as he scowled at them. Link frowned at him.

“You’re free to go to sleep if you don’t want to participate,” he said mildly.

Instead of replying, Kanda just snarled at him silently, and then leaned forward and shoved a hand into the fire. Link started, heart skipping a beat as he made a false motion to stop him, but aside from a tightening of his features and a low hiss, Kanda didn’t even react to the pain, just took one of the logs and shifted it, stirring the fire and bringing a little life back into it.

Link drew back sharply at almost the same time Kanda lazily reclaimed his hand, burnt and sticky, and shook it out, teeth baring in an unkind smirk and daring him to comment.

His hand, Link noted absently, was already visibly healing.

“You don’t have to lash out at Link just because you hate sweet things and everything else good and nice, Kanda,” Allen sniped, and Kanda bristled, attention turning to him, thoroughly distracted.

“You’re the one who insists on talking about the dumbest things at the stupidest times, dumb beansprout,” Kanda countered, baring his teeth in a much less vicious expression than he’d shown Link moments before.

“It’s called making conversation, stupid Kanda, you should try it sometime!”

Within minutes, the argument had devolved into wrestling, and Link sighed, rolled his eyes, and started to put the fire out, keeping half an eye on the other two.

Honestly, they were such children sometimes.

(He almost forgot about the failed mission until the next day, when he was faced, abruptly and unpleasantly, with the need to turn in a report, and felt his stomach turn.)

* * *

It was a long time before Kanda realized he wasn’t dead.

Actually, it was almost comical how long it took, but he’d always expected to die a slow and awful death like Alma’s, trapped and killed over and over, and the image had just stuck somehow, and...

Anyway, it took so long for him to knit back together that when he’d finished, he didn’t even realize it for quite a while.

The next thing he realized: he felt settled in a way he hadn’t in a long time. His thoughts were clear, his skin didn’t itch, his mind didn’t buzz with awful grimy static - he was tired, and he ached with old grief, but he wasn’t _writhing_ with it.

He was himself, and he knew what he was doing here, and he wasn’t reaching for something he would never be able to touch again.

Kanda could rest here - he could feel that much, that it would take hardly anything now. It had taken so long to knit together, and he’d gotten what he’d wanted for so long. He felt _right._

(He thought of Alma, desperate and half-mad with pain and trying to make it stop in all the wrong ways.)

(And he thought of Lenalee.)

(He thought of Allen.)

Carefully, Kanda set Alma’s motionless and crumbled body aside, stood up, and started to walk.

Lenalee, he knew, had not been able to stop hurting herself on her first try; it had taken time, and reassurance, and determination and support.

 _No more,_ he told himself, and walked forward.

* * *

Concealed in the crowd, Link followed Allen at a safe distance, blending in with the ease of long practice and familiarity. Allen looked exhausted, bruises under his eyes - he was going to find a place to spend the night, Link guessed, because Allen had a way of taking care of himself when he was alone that he didn’t quite manage around others, a way of knowing how to survive.

Guilt twisted at Link’s chest, almost enough to make him drop his gaze. Despite Leverrier’s instructions, he felt like he should be helping Allen - like he owed it to him somehow, or…

Well. It didn’t matter. He had his orders and that was that.

He watched Allen disappear into an inn and turned away, hand twisting angrily at his wrist. He let out a long, shivering breath, a shudder rippling down his spine, and then set off to find his own place for the night.

He’d wake up early to catch Allen as he left. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know Allen’s habits by now.

Link squeezed his wrist hard enough to make the bones creak, and then let go, hurrying through the crowd and refusing to let his head bow.

He was doing his duty excellently. He should be proud.

**Author's Note:**

> My artist partner, tea-brain on Tumblr, will post their part soon and I'll embed it or leave a link then! Thank you everyone for reading, and please leave a comment!
> 
> (If you feel in need of resources, you can go to sioutreach.org for a start.)


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